She's as sweet as tupelo honey

I was dreaming through my alarm again. It’s strange how you can be aware of something without completely comprehending it, although I suppose that applies to many day-to-day experiences. By the time the ding of my clock penetrated my brain, it was 6:55 a.m. I’m supposed to leave at 7:00. Perhaps I should have been panicked, but I wasn’t. I even cheerfully welcomed the opportunity to get David some cereal when he padded into the kitchen. As I gathered my belongings and grabbed some fruit, I heard a second set of little feet. Emily had woken up to voices, sat up wide-eyed, and slid off of the bed to investigate. She looked almost frantic as she reached up for me, and I scooped her up for a quick cuddle. Placing her back on the floor, I walked to the closet for my jacket and accidentally dropped my phone in the process. I reacted with a whispered “shoot” as Emily dove for the coveted piece of technology. From the dining room table, I heard a small voice say, “Mommy, you don’t say shoot...” Smiling to myself, I said, “You’re right, David. I shouldn’t say that...” but I was interrupted by him cutting back in with, “...you say ‘dangit.’” I couldn’t help laughing, although perhaps I shouldn’t have. Johnathan moved from the bed to the living room couch, David continued breakfasting, and Emily accompanied me to the door with a piece of banana in each hand. As I made my way down the driveway, I could still see her fuzzy little head peering intently through the glass. I had a hard time tearing myself away this morning, and I will be glad to be home once again. When I got home yesterday, I noticed that petals were falling from the crab apple tree in a snow-like shower. Glancing up, I realized that bees were jostling the blossoms and stood rooted to the spot when I realized exactly how many of the insects were swarming the tree. Every bee in Forsyth County must have been congregating in my yard, and I called Johnathan out to join me in marveling at the sight. Truthfully, it was a bit unnerving to see so many in one area. When I stepped back out an hour later, they had retired for the night, and it was hard to believe that there had ever been anything but quiet stillness among the branches.